The night air turned quiet after Mike and his team secured the guard tower. When the big Scot gave the signal from the guardhouse, the game began. On foot, Logan led his team through the tunnel and into the compound.

Satellite surveillance had confirmed Olivia’s warning. Earlier, even more enemy trucks had arrived and the ICE team was tasked with facing an army rather than the skeleton contingent assigned to watch over a group of female hostages. Before they’d left base camp, plans had been hastily altered, bringing in four additional Israeli Apache copters. Thank God for Garth. He could move mountains with a phone call. At least when it counted.

They might be outmanned, but what they lacked in boots was made up for by air support. With the capacity to deliver 625 rounds per minute, the US-built Apache’s job was to take out the guard stations at the four quadrants of the compound as well as bomb the hell out of the barracks.

But Logan called the shots. His team was responsible for the evacuation of the women. Two Chinook dual-prop copters were hovering on standby to extract Logan’s team and the hostages.

Once inside, Logan ordered the strike. He spoke softly into his mic. “Green light to Mission Cat House. Entering the lion’s den.” He adjusted his night vision goggles and motioned to his team—every man dressed in black. Stealthily, they hastened through the exposed courtyard to the building that housed the girls.

“Waqf!” an ISIS guard shouted for them to halt.

Logan fired a single shot, muffled by the silencer affixed to the end of his M4 carbine rifle. The guard dropped. Without hesitating, Logan pushed inside and secured the entry. Two more enemy shots came from outside—then more. The recon team’s presence was no longer a secret.

“Butts to nuts,” Logan said. They’d take each room SWAT style, scooting forward like a single serpent, guns at their shoulders, locked and loaded, ready to fire at the first hostile.

Inside, gunfire flashed from the back of the corridor.

The ICE team responded, firing quick rounds. Logan moved into place, leading his team, making a diamond formation as they cleared the lower level…Until they arrived at the last door.

His gut twisted as the team took their places either side, ready for the next battle. But he wasn’t about to take any chances. He pulled the pin on a flash bang, then made a mental count: four, three, two, one. He nodded to Stephan. The German opened the door.

Logan threw in the stunner. Stephan closed the door. The men shaded their eyes.

A flash of light burst around the door with a cracking pop, blinding everyone inside.

Working as a tight unit, the ICE men filed inside to the shrieks of three women. No men.

“Get down on your face and spread ’em!” Logan yelled.

They dropped their weapons and held up their hands, obviously not comprehending the order he’d given. The women were older. Hard-looking. Wearing black hijabs, and definitely not a single blonde captive among them.

“Zip cuffs and gags. See to it these ladies stay put.”

“Ladies?” one of the men asked.

Logan ignored him and turned to his remaining teammates. “Upstairs. Everyone lock and load. Expect retaliation.”

Outside, the props of copters whirred low in the air. Machine gun fire came in short bursts and sounded like it surrounded them from all sides. Strobe lights from the helos blinked through the windows while a deafening whirr zipped through the air.

Logan charged up the stairs, keeping the wall flush on his left. At the bend he stopped, leading around the corner with his M4 ready to fire.

Crack. Crack. Crack!

Disembodied hands fired rifles from the top of the stairwell with bursts of flashing light.

A bullet whizzed past Logan’s hand. Planting his back against the wall, he pulled another flash bang from his vest and yanked out the pin with his teeth. After nodding in time to four seconds, he threw the grenade and shielded his eyes. As soon as it exploded, he charged across the landing and unloaded, sweeping his weapon from side to side as he raced upward.

Shrill screams came from above.

At the top of the stairs, three guards lay dead.

Grinding his teeth, Logan kicked in the first door.

Hysterical girls were lying face down on the floor, their hands above their heads. Except for one.

A wide-eyed guard held a sidearm to the neck of a frantic teen, begging for mercy in French. The guard shouted something in Arabic that Logan could only guess was a threat to stay back. Cocking his night vision goggles to the top of his head, he motioned to the others to stop in their tracks.

“Take it easy,” Logan said, making his voice sound gentle and unhurried. The last thing they needed was for a panicked guard to kill a hostage. “We just want the girls.” He made a show of putting his M4 on the floor, the movement giving him the opportunity to turn sideways, slip a Walther PPK 9mm from his holster and hide it behind his back. Not a super high-power pistol, but accurate and deadly. Especially at close range. Especially in a hostage situation.

The perp’s gun shook, but she looked as if she was more apt to shoot the terrified lass than to let her go.

“Release the girl,” he said, using the small amount of Arabic he knew.

The woman scuttled backward, tugging the French girl with her.

Logan pieced together one more phrase and hoped to God it was right. “If you release her, you will live.”

The girl shrieked while the guard shook her head, spewing a line of imperceptible curses, her eyes growing even wilder.

You asked for it.

Logan took a single step aside, aimed his pistol and fired.

The woman dropped.

The French girl shrank into a puddle of nerves, crying and ranting hysterically.

A deep, booming whirr from approaching Chinooks rattled the entire building. As planned, Logan and Stephan shouted commands alternatively in French and German while he desperately scanned the faces for Olivia.

Shit.

She was nowhere to be seen.

The room filled with deafening chatter, while the girls sprang to their feet and started running for the door. Trying to get a room full of terrified females to cooperate and proceed to the courtyard in an orderly fashion was going to be a challenge. He circled his hand over his head and whistled. “Two lines. Single file. Five groups. Stay with your leader!” Logan shouted in French. As he stooped to retrieve his M4, he nodded to Stephan. “Evacuate. I’m going to find Commander Hamilton.”

“Where is she?”

“It would have made things a hell of a lot easier if she was here.”

“Do we wait for you?”

“Hell, no. We cannot jeopardize the rescue.” That’s why they’d identified the rendezvous point. Number one, extricate the hostages, number two, find the woman who filled his every waking thought.

After readjusting his night vision goggles, Logan ran for the courtyard. The place had erupted into a battle zone. The Apache copters fended off a ground attack. Enemy fire came from the eastern side of the compound—from guns that hadn’t been on their recon. Mike’s team still had the southern perimeter secured, including the gate.

Keeping to the shadows, Logan ran to the pits. Only one girl was there, and it wasn’t the blonde for whom he was looking. The hostage shook the grille. “Get me out of here. Please!” she cried in French.

“How long have you been locked up?” he asked, praying she wasn’t too weak to walk.

“Since this afternoon.”

“Where is Olivia?”

“They took her.”

“Where?”

“To see the caliph.”

His muscles tensed. Logan knew exactly who the caliph was. Mission Cat House just ratcheted up to DEFCON 1.

He fired at the lock and hastily pulled the hostage out. “Run for the Chinooks as fast as you can.”

The girl took off.

Logan looked to the mansion at the back of the compound. Either Olivia was there or they’d absconded with her. He couldn’t allow himself to consider the latter. If she was in that house, she was in deep. His greatest fear? That she’d already snapped. She thought she could face death in the eyes and beat it down, but the woman was still human. She was strong and tough and smart, but she wasn’t bulletproof.

Leaving nothing to chance, he quickly checked for her microchip on the tracking app on his watch. Thank God. She was in that house, all right.

All around him, pockets of fighting erupted with bursts of gunfire. The Apache copters kept the dogs back while Stephan led the dash for the Chinooks. The girl from the pit made it safely.

Logan picked his way toward the house. An Apache ascended from the back and proceeded eastward in pursuit of enemy fighters.

But right now, ridding the world of terrorists wasn’t number one on Logan’s list of objectives. Removing all hostages topped the bill, and that included the duchess.

My duchess!

The front door of the house was open, creaking on its hinges as if beckoning him inside and warning him that danger lurked behind every crevice. Having depleted his supply of flash bangs, he stood at the side of the jamb and listened. After giving himself a silent count, he swung his M4 into the doorway.

As far as he could see, the place was empty.

The lights were out.

“Olivia?” he whispered.

No response came, but footsteps clattered on the floor above.

Logan crept through the corridor. He opened a door and found a ballroom—definitely not what he was looking for.

She’d be upstairs.

About to close the door, footsteps sounded down the hall. He quickly ducked inside, careful not to make a noise. Logan peered through a crack in the door while a team of four men armed with AK47s darted past.

Once the hall was clear, he headed back to the foyer and up the marble staircase. The place was enormous, but Logan followed his instincts. The brass would room at the most protected part of the compound. Still, along the way, he opened every door only to find each room abandoned.

Down the corridor, someone yelled for a guard.

Logan dove for cover beneath a marble hall table supported by gilded legs.

Shots fired.

Two men ran straight past him—so close, if he’d reached out, he could have brushed their knees.

Once they were out of sight, Logan rushed to the room, light streamed from the doorway. He led with his M4, his finger caressing the trigger.

He didn’t see movement at first, but he heard a gasp. Flipping up his night vision goggles, he zoned in on the source.

“Jesus Christ.” All he saw was blood and bare flesh. He lowered his weapon and closed the door, then ran to Olivia’s side. Dropping to his knees, he pulled her into his arms. “Where are you hit?”

“Logan?” She looked up, her eyes encircled by black and looking like a raccoon. “Quickly. He’s getting away!”

“Who?”

“Al-Umari.”